tHe haPPy grOUch

Saturday, February 16, 2013

And most recently...

I share too much through blogging.
Personal stuff. And I'm going to do it again.
Maybe so that someone, somewhere, can relate and have an "ah-ha"
moment. Maybe because talk-therapy is essentially as effective as medications.
Maybe because blatant honesty is liberating. Or maybe it's just because I'm
impulsive. Or because I'm somehow both an introvert and an exhibitionist (I
know, I'm a walking contradiction).

Or maybe it's just because
I'm sick of seeing in everyone's eyes how lucky they think I am, how good they
think I have it, how wonderful and pretty
my life is.

I'm sick and tired of
pretending to be normal.

I have a great husband. (Mostly)
happy, and healthy children. A beautiful home. Good friends. A wonderful (close
and extended) family. Some exceptional qualities. Some average qualities. A few
hobbies. I have my health. I am, "normal".

Although, I've always known
that I'm not.

For about the last 20 years
or so.

This is "my
normal"...

It wasn't until 6 months ago
that I seriously (and begrudgingly) sought help for being "my
normal". I've recognized for probably 10 years or better that I should.
But always claimed- I'm fine the way I am. I am content. I’m fine. Why bother.

Over the years, people
(including myself) have always made jokes about it...

I'm such an ogre. I'm so
difficult. I'm bitchy. I'm irritable. So moody. So stoic, so serious. Rarely
smiling. Such a grouch. Mean, uncaring, cold, apathetic (I can’t recall how
many times I’ve heard those words)...
And other jokes too...

You got ANOTHER dog? You got
ANOTHER cat? You bought a new car AGAIN? You moved AGAIN? You're going back to
school AGAIN? You changed jobs AGAIN? You've been married how many times? You
changed your hair AGAIN? You're engaged ALREADY? You broke up with him AGAIN?

(Fun fact- My children are
the only thing I've never traded-in, changed-up, returned, or walked away
from.. god knows I've thought about it)

I want to have a baby. I
don't want a baby. I want to look for a new home. I want to relocate. I want a
job. I don’t want to work. I'll go back to school. I'll sell my house. I'll get
a divorce. I'll go spend a hundred dollars on shit I don't need instead of
paying the phone bill. I got a cat. And a dog. Then some fish. Bought a new
bracelet. Got a hobby. Colored my hair. Got bored, found a new hobby. Sold a
dog. Quit school. Spend another hundred bucks on useless shit instead of paying
the electric bill. Got a new job. Another cat. Another dog. Cut my hair off.
Traded in my car I just bought... and on, and on, and on...

Fill the void, fill the void,
fill the void... But... WHAT void?

I wake unhappy most days.
Although there's not really that much to be unhappy about. (Reference all the
above claims that make me normal.. kids, husband, home, health, family...) But
I am unhappy. Never satisfied. Always
wanting something more. Something different. And when I'm not irritable, or
angry, or excitable, intolerant, sad, or exuberantly ecstatic, I'm simply flat.
Complacent. Indifferent. And I was that way before I started medicating, so
it's not the meds.

And those "flat"
times are when I am most content... (Unfortunately they are also the most
infrequent)..

No manic episodes... Of
energy, compelling me to stay up all night working on crafts. Or of impulsivity,
when I go shopping for a new car, another animal, or just a $100 of useless
shit at the thrift store. Or of anger, wanting to just break something, having
to hibernate because I can't stand to be around the people I supposedly love… can't even stand to be around myself. Or of
obsession, when I'll sit and research/read about something, ANYTHING, for hours
and hours, literally. Or clean the
house until my knuckles are bare and my blisters are bleeding (unfortunately,
that particular obsessive behavior doesn't happen nearly enough). Or of
depression, when I feel that no matter how "good" my life is, I'm a failure.
No one sees me, accepts me, knows me, or loves me. Or of exhaustion, when I
can't (or just won't) get out of my jammies and off the couch for days.

Don't get me wrong, I have
happy manic moments too. Moments when there's absolutely nothing wrong with the
world, and I'm so happy I could spew rainbows and butterflies and dance for
hours. Those moments typically coexist with/manifest into the energetic
moments, or the impulsive moments. Those are the moments where I’m so
exuberant, excitable, and entertaining, that everyone at work jokes and sais-
Crista must have remembered to take her meds today! Ha ha!

places. In fact, most of my
memories (from a year ago, or from 20 years ago) are generated by photographs,
not actual events. Seriously. Imagine how that feels for a minute.
Add the "mood swings" (we'll just call them that for now) to all of
that, and it's a recipe for a terribly confused mind.

I have a high level of
anxiety. Which is a lot different from "I worry a lot", trust me.
I don't like driving long distances. I don't like being away from home for too
long. I won't fly, I'm afraid I'll die. I won't go in a boat, I'm afraid I'll
die. I won't let my kid do anything fun
(like wrestle, or ride four wheelers, or fire a rifle).. because, yup, you
guessed it, I'm afraid he'll die.

I stress to the max whenever
someone I love is doing any number of these things.. Yup, ‘cause I'm afraid
they'll die. I constantly worry about my children when they're not right under
my nose. (Sidenote, I affectionately call this particular problem my “mortality
anxiety”).
In any “normal” situation, I (subconsciously) paint vivid, paranoid, and
unrealistic pictures in my mind of what “might” happen, and cling to them with
ferocity. Not willingly, of course! Who in their right mind would do that to
themselves??

Yeah, it's a lot different
than- "I worry a lot".

Add to this weird anxiety, something
new (within the last several months).. I’m super “sensitive” (for lack of a
more descriptive word) to sounds and noises. And I’m not talking about typical
irritants like nails on a chalkboard, or a large noise that jumps the shit out
of you...
A door closing, a child singing, people talking near you at the grocery store..
Hell, you could just say my name and I’ll become irritated and/or startled. I
wish I could explain this better, but my vernacular fails me…
And heaven forbid you actually doalarmme (accidentally or not)… I’ll take your head off. Literally. Just
ask my husband.

Speaking of husband, I'm on my third. Ha! That's so funny!

Seriously though... it's pretty goddamn difficult to form or maintain relationships when you feel like people don't (or can't) "get you". Or just can't accept you, once they start figuring it out… I'm all too familiar with the whole- this isn't what I signed on for- mentality...

I didn't have a tumultuous
childhood. My Mom was, and still is awesome. My Dad was, and still is, a raging
alcoholic. But then again, so was I up until about 8-10 years ago. Thank god I
smartened up. I don't do drugs, nor have I ever. I was never abused. There's no
hidden trauma (as far as I know). There is
however, a family history of depression and mood disorders. Most untreated.
There's nothing for me to "blame" this on, other than perhaps
genetics. Although at my initial therapy sessions as an adolescent (which led
to years of off and on counseling through adulthood), I tried to blame it all
on something. Anything.

Eventually I got older, and
wise enough to know that there's nowhere to place the blame.. realized that I'm
just wired differently. Not that that makes it any easier to understand or deal
with... Most of the time it just makes it even more frustrating, and difficult to accept.
I've always said that the truly insane are a very fortunate group of people,
mainly because they have no idea that they are insane.

I've seen several therapists
over the years. Over the years, my
Doctor has tried a few different medications. She said then, and still says now;
it's probably a mood disorder, probably bipolar. But she'd rather me have a
psych eval to help figure it all out. She prescribed me anti-depressants a few
years back. Unfortunately, they made me a bit crazy. Okay, maybe more than a
bit. And so I quit them, and said- screw this. Fast forward a few years, and
I'm trying some different "mood stabilizers". Which seem to work for
a while, then I plateau, and eventually regress. Fall into the same
"moods", confusion, anxiety, irritability, the same obsessive patterns..
Into "my normal".. She set me up for a psychiatric evaluation last
year. I skipped it. We try another "mood stabilizer” recently. That one made
me a bit crazy too. So we quit the meds and she sets me up for anther psych
eval...